


Sutei

by OfficialAverageBiscuit



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Abusive Ryo, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dating, Demons, Descent into Madness, Dubious Morality, Existential Crisis, False Accusations, Fix-It, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description of Light Body Horror, Graphic Description of Murder, Gratuitious skinship, Gratuitous Disociation, Gratuitous Forgiveness, Guilt, Guro, Heat Stroke, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Illness, Manga Characterization Miki, Manga Typical Panic Attack, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Mentions of Rape, Mild Sexual Content, Mild torture, Moral Ambiguity, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Patronization, Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reincarnation, Revenge, Rough Kissing, Schizophrenic slurs, Self-Sacrifice, Sexual Tension, Sexualized Violent Tendencies, Stockholm Syndrome, Strangulation, Teasing, Threats of Violence, Torture, Twins, Violence, accidental violence, compulsory heterosexuality, lying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:12:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialAverageBiscuit/pseuds/OfficialAverageBiscuit
Summary: Even if you realize it's me, you don't need to hold me in your arms again, this is enough... if you do realize it's me, will you let me hear your treasured laughter at my grotesque crime?I know well I'm nothing but a ghost, an empty shell built of lies.When you realize it's me, will you let me at least hear you laugh one more time?





	1. Tenshi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> どうだっていい言を  
> 嘘って吐いて戻れない  
> 時効なんてやってこない  
> 奪ったように奪われて

“What have I done to you, beloved? How could I face you again?”

 

He whispered it in Akira’s tongue, then in Latin, in English, Russian, the language of his tribe--  no, Ryo Asuka’s tribe, he didn’t deserve those people-- every single language he could think of, murmuring his empty, fruitless sorrows to Akira’s corpse. None of them captured it. None of them were right.

 

He drifted his finger along the clean wound, dried against the vacuum of the void. Such a pure white finger, dirtied by what he’d done. There was no doubt that god was one crusty senile psychopath, but Satan couldn’t deny, he wouldn’t let him back in in this situation either.

 

Tears still flowed, cold, nearly meaningless. He couldn’t stop crying since Akira died. How could he? How could he when Akira was not here to put a name to the festering hurt inside him, how could he when he took the empathetic tears from Akira’s eyes, left him a shell rusted by Amon?

 

They were late. They should have been there already. Why, why drag him and Akira’s memory along this doomed river of the magenta void. Why was the feeling of the smooth obsidian below him chafing into his legs? How many years had it been?

 

“How could I do this? To you?”

 

Satan whimpered, tugging Akira against his chest. All he had ever wanted was to embrace Akira, to love him. He knew that was what kept this going, he had figured that out dozens of loops ago. It was not that he was exiled anymore for the rebellion, or the sin, but that he loved one human far too much. It was others he needed to feel for.

 

There were so many repetitions. It was wearing on him, sixteen years oblivious and the sudden weight of being wrong for millions thrown on him.

 

So many times when he shrugged off Akira calling him, tears streaming relentlessly as he reported seeing a little girl shot in the street, so many times he allowed the ones Akira treasured most to die, to rot in the streets, unburied, villains.

 

How had this happened? He never wanted this, Ryo or Satan. Maybe many loops ago, he had a foolish idea that humans were the cause of his problems. Maybe many loops ago, he still thought he had a chance at Father’s hand again, some clawing part of his anger was cowardice, the angelic instinct to run back into Father’s arms.

 

Miki Makimura was a threat to Ryo Asuka, but she was no threat to Satan. Ryo’s tears fell a bit faster as he clutched Akira’s limp hand, laughing at his bitter foolishness for being intimidated by his relationship with her which was all along brotherly.

 

He had long regretted the death of the Makikuras, learned against his nature to weep for them for Akira. He had long realized his remorse for Kuroda because of this, and for her family, and everyone that connected, every single one of the treasured connections he destroyed. He knew these were special, this relearned love for the race that had stolen his paradise; he knew what he felt for Akira, and he knew those were not the same.

 

Yet, the blood of humanity was painted against his pristine white fingers in an ugly browned red seen only by him over and over. Why?

 

“Why am I like this?”

 

He breathed it in the language of the angels, something unnamed and treasured. They were late. He wanted escape, now. He wanted to sleep, now. Let Ryo Asuka have his precious years with Akira once more.

 

“If only, if only.” he mumbled. “If only I weren’t so blind. If only, if only, Ryo Asuka weren’t such a fool.”

 

“You wish to spend a loop awake? Surprising, you always long for sleep.” a sharp, feminine voice. Not like they weren’t all built the same. Satan turned with weary pain in his eyes to Gabriel and Michael, clothed like the stupid dogs they were, like every angel body wasn’t the same. Idiots. Constructs, appearances, Father took too much liking to human ideals. Father was all he hated, by now.

 

“You’re late-- I wish to fix things.” he said curtly, too tired to explain further. Why have diplomacy when you’re the devil, at this point? “Does it matter?”

 

“It does indeed. This makes things very, very interesting.” Michael simpered, and Ryo’s wings fell slightly.

 

“Is Father no longer bothering checking my progress? It seems she’s becoming more careless and immature with the centuries… although, time doesn’t count for me, does it?”

 

Gabriel shifted uncomfortably, eyeing Satan with displeasure. “Sarcasm will get you nowhere with those who wish to benefit you. We have a mutual interest in your plea and our entertainment. Father has her business handled, and she can manage you quite well, o’ ‘Favorite.’”

 

“We have a proposal.” Michael cut off Satan’s quip, raising a hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time he saw the crumpled figure, he thought it was a lost foreigner. He felt bad, the pretty blonde seeming so tired, her shoulders so low with hopelessness in the cold, foggy rain. He felt bad, she was probably dumped by her boyfriend or something to look that sad, but he was late for school and Miki didn’t wait for him, iron fisted in her grip on their shared umbrella.

 

His sneakers sloshed with guilt as he ran to catch up with Miki, shouting and holding his book bag over his head.

 

The second day was no school, and Akira found himself drawn to that corner again. The rain had let up, but the mist was still thick and puddles dotted the streets like the kisses of a lover.

 

That same blonde sat, knees pulled to her chest, bangs silently and motionlessly drawn over her eyes, like she’d fought something but given up, not bothering to push them back.

 

Something felt off about her.

 

He was wary, wary of her still soaked white clothes and her scraped legs. Wary of the way her shoulders sagged without the tenseness of hope and will to live. Wary of this mythical creature, a sodden, beaten unicorn.

 

He fidgeted with his hands, realizing he’d been standing awkwardly and staring for a good twenty seconds, but her eyes didn’t raise, she didn’t move. He ran his hand through his hair, feeling the dampness in his sneakers as he approached her.

 

“Hello.” he squatted down to greet her, but her gaze didn’t lift.

 

He fidgeted again, feeling heat creep up his neck. Maybe she didn’t want to talk and he was just being a creep.

 

“Um,” he tried again, offering his hand, “N-nice to meet you. My name’s Fudo Akira. I’m sixteen. It’s… a pleasure. Are you alright?”

 

Her eyes lifted. Sharp, strikingly blue eyes, swirled with grey but livid with contrast. Akira had never seen anything like it-- her eyelashes were just so long. He found himself captivated in silence, content taking in her jagged and beautiful features.

 

Her mouth moved, small, lips pale, words small and careful.

 

“Fudo Akira,” she breathed, wispy.

 

He swallowed hard, nodding awkwardly, and wondering if he should put down his hand. He glanced at it quickly.

 

She glanced down too, realizing her mistake and weakly taking his hand. Akira squeezed softly, lips moving silently as he felt the inhuman softness of her hand, too pale, too weak.

 

“Are you okay?” he managed, “You’ve… been out here a while.”

 

She smiled, and shook her head no, promptly closing her eyes.

 

That pale pale blonde girl was no girl at all.

 

Akira put his face in his hands, embarrassed by his mistake but glad it hadn’t come up. He was also glad his sciencey doctor parents had good peopley doctor friends, good enough to deal with not only him, but patch up this random guy he had dragged home.

 

Guy.

 

To Akira’s defense, it wasn’t really what he was focused on, he was really pretty and he was wearing basically a dress. Even Noel, much straighter than Akira could ever claim, noted his innate and eerie beauty.

 

Miki hadn’t thought much of him, but that was kind of a given. She shrugged it off to her very Christian father, saying he had “weird vibes” and gave her the “heebie jeebies”.

 

Noel had assured Akira he’d figure out how badly anemic and dehydrated he was and anything else wrong and patch him up. He worked quietly, taking standard blood pressure tests and checking his blank blue eyes and standard testing the like.

 

Noel pressed his fingers to the blonde’s throat, waited a moment, then frowned. He reached for a stethoscope, checking his heart, and his face turned cold.

 

“He has no pulse.”

 

Akira’s heart stuttered and dropped, and a rock pressed into his throat. His head felt like cotton and his eyes fell to his hands. If he had taken him yesterday, if he hadn’t left him in the rain….

 

And he sat up, vivid blue eyes shooting open with a shrill scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Why am I like this?" Satan, 2k18
> 
> /1972/1987/1990/2015
> 
> please comment, I'm so tired


	2. Shikabane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 今日だって叶わない  
> 思ったように騙せない  
> 腐っている僕には  
> 腐ったものが理解らない

The screaming didn't stop. It didn't stop as Akira let out a shocked, choked sob, or as Noel fought determined claws to his face, nor when Miki came running to the doorway, screaming back and trying to tear him off of her father.

 

Akira stared in frozen horror, watching sharp pretty features contort and disfigure into a morbid, enraged terror. The blonde boy screamed relentlessly, seeming not to even breathe as his irises fluttered sporadically around the room, kicking and biting at Noel viciously, tearing at his flesh with an animalistic roar. It was something high and shrill and concentrated with fear.

 

“Stop,” Akira whispered, spider web pillows of faded memories clouding his words.

 

“Stop,” he echoed, fists clenching and a panic brimming at his throat.

 

“Stop!” he shrieked, tears boiling over and his hands finding a white knuckle grip on his hair.

 

And his gaze lifted.

 

The blonde stopped, looking to Akira but dancing his shaky, panicked glare between Miki’s throat under his knee and Noel’s throat in his hands.

 

He registered Akira's tears slowly, but he registered them like enlightenment. His eyes widened further before relaxing, his brow furrowing in concern instead of terror as he lifted away from his death grip on the two Makimuras.

 

“I'm… so….”

 

Miki’s face contorted in rage at the figure above her, coughing quietly but desperately.

 

“You were just scared,” Akira’s voice came from far away, interrupting his apology.

 

Miki frowned as she sat up, gathering spit in her throat and horking it into his bare foot.

 

“I don't know what the fuck is wrong with this schizo twink freak, but I want it out of my house.” she growled. Akira started at her vulgar and uncharacteristically ignorant words.

 

The boy was unsurprised, turning to leave in silence, but Akira grabbed his shoulder. He flinched.

 

“What are you fucking talking about?” Akira demanded, horrified at Miki’s unwavering disgust and Noel’s silence. Miki’s eyes flashed with determined anger, the echoes of protectiveness darkening the green of her eyes, while Noel’s analyzed the floor.

 

Akira frowned deeply, perturbed. Silence flooded the room like a sea of choking, unaddressed blood, and Akira clenched a fist, one hand still on the boy’s shoulder.

 

“He’s hurt, still! He was scared! What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Don’t.” the boy whispered, and Akira turned to see his face solemn and his hands shaking. “I’ll leave.”

 

He pulled from Akira’s grasp and briskly moved down the hallway, leaving Akira to give a pleading look to an infuriated Miki before rushing after him.

 

“Wait, I don’t even know your name!” Akira insisted as he jogged after him, struggling to pull on his shoes as the boy elegantly walked barefoot on to hot sidewalks. “You’re not okay yet!”

 

Akira stumbled outside only to find the boy stopped on the sidewalk, facing him and smiling coldly, his small mouth forming a grin too confident for the deep scars from being chapped.

 

He froze, unsure of what to do. His baggy shorts hung too big over his frail waist, his billowing coat Akira had mistaken for a dress waved lazily in the crisp, harsh sun. He looked like an angel, a broken angel. Akira’s feet were held still by some creeping fascination, the same one he had felt when he first saw him. Something achingly, unsettlingly familiar, something he wanted to touch, to be tangible, to have a name. Something about him distorted the air around him, made the rest of the world seem less real.

 

“Oh, Akira. I’m the last one you should be worrying about. It’s always been your nature to forgive too much. Sweet, sweet Akira. I’ll wear any name you give me.”

 

Akira let out a ripped scream of confusion and terror as the boy dematerialized before his eyes.

  
  
  


“He was a ghost? A ghost, Akira. Are you shitting me? This isn’t funny. He kicked in my fucking throat.”

 

Akira shifted uncomfortably. Miki was too angry about him, she was the one to always be smiling. She was cursing too much, her eyes too fiery with irritation at every little tic, her hands too often reaching to brush the sickening yellow and blue painting her neck. Even with what the ghost had done, she had been attacked and nearly raped before, and she wasn’t even as angry at that.

 

“He was. Ask your dad.”

 

Miki looked up from the knot she was making in a bedsheet.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He had no pulse.”

 

Akira said it too quickly, the lump in his throat feeling no relief. Miki’s eyes widened as she realized he was serious and she pouted in innate terror and disbelief.

 

“You brought a ghost home?!” she yelped, hands flying to her neck.

 

Akira hushed her. Her mother still hadn’t been told; there wasn’t a direct need to tell her, and she would just panic. The three of them had simply sat in a pool of murky, awkward guilt as they ate dinner.

 

“Yes, I’m sorry. But he’s gone now, so….”

 

“So what, Akira? It’s a ghost, how are you gonna assume he won’t come back and kill us all!” Miki stood, eyes fluttering with the hysteria of knowing ghosts were real, ghost were real and they could dig their knee into your throat, crushing it as black spots appeared and--.

 

“--And he does what you say….” she whispered, completing her unsaid thought.

 

She sat again, sharply now.

 

“What did he say to you? Exactly. Every word.”

 

It wasn’t hard for Akira to remember down to the particles and intonation.

  


Ryo shivered on that corner. It had no real sentimental or technical value or benefits besides being on Akira’s route to school, but he had picked it and that’s where he went, now. He had managed to get ahold of cigarettes, charming a wrinkled businessman into buying him some. He lifted the lighter easily.

 

He carefully lit it, pressing it to his lips shakily. His knees lifted slow to his chest, a comforting sort of instinct if you will, from all those times spent in the tree.

 

He hated humans.

 

He didn’t know what he was, now. Some sort of monster, not a ghost but not anything he was before, either.

 

A memory.

 

A fond memory not in this world, built on lies, coated in the molasses of deceit and his own selfishness.

 

Perhaps he echoed humans more than he’d admit.

 

He blew smoke out of his lips weakly, a cloying emptiness flooding him.

 

He’d fucked it all up real fast. Now what was he going to do? Watch Akira get old and die, eventually watch the humans discover demons and kill themselves. It was a longer, slower ending, more brutal in a mocking, agonizing form.

 

Reasonably, Makimura Miki and her father would be paranoid for a while. Ryo opened and closed his fist, recalling the feeling of his flesh airily. It would fade, he’d be forgotten, and he could wipe the slate clean again.

 

He didn’t expect to see Akira at 3 am, shivering against a windbreaker too thin for the seeping, dry cold. His breath made weak tufts of steam, his nose reddened in an adorable way that perfectly encapsulated the child that never left him, no matter what he went through… Ryo couldn’t deny he was glad he was looking for him. He sighed, sucking up one more puff of his cigarette before crushing the half left over under his bare hand. Human pain and cold was always interesting to him.

 

Akira, however, saw him at that very moment, rather inconveniently.

 

“Hey, hey! Don’t do that!” he rushed to Ryo, grabbing his hand with concern, somewhat surprised to see it leave a wound. Ryo limply allowed it, refusing to deny Akira anything this time around. He lidded his eyes, tired somewhere deeper than sleep. Akira’s hand-- still soft, paler than when he fused with Amon. His features were rounded, feminine, his eyelashes long and his frame weak. Ryo admired it more than devilman, in a faraway corner of his mind.

 

“I have to… I have to get you somewhere, make sure you’re not….” he glanced over the cold sidewalk Ryo protectively slumped back on, taking his hand from Akira to dig his new wound into the shivers of cold saturated concrete.

 

“Where am I going to go, Akira? I’m a ghost sitting on a street corner, and you can’t bring me back to the Makimuras. You don’t even know my name. You don’t know me at all.” Ryo casually murmured, eyes lazy and shoulders back. He would deny Akira nothing, but that didn’t mean he would tell Akira he always had an apartment waiting, always had a glass lounge on the edge of the forest. It was Jenny’s nature to accommodate for him, whether she physically came in contact with him in a loop or not.

 

But he liked this corner, and he liked liking it for no reason. He had no motivation to try to hoard Akira and have it blow up in his face-- he’d done that plenty of times.

 

“But… well, what is your name, then?” Akira pouted, and Ryo had to re-register what he said. Oh, right.

 

Ryo sighed, weary. All he wanted was to watch Akira from afar, all he wanted was to see Akira happy. But he had a selfish nature, and he talked to him, he tried to taste being a part of his life again, and now he’d fucked the whole thing.

 

“I suppose you could call me a few things.”

 

“What would those be?”

 

Satan smiled a little, softly accepting the padding anxiety and the cruel joke in his throat. “Oh, Lan, Jun, Manha, Asano, Estrela, Akihiko, a few names here, a few names there. Once someone called me Lucy.”

  
He nearly laughed at that. That was a really shit joke. Akira looked at him intently with something Ryo couldn’t place. He gave in. He’d deny Akira nothing.

 

“I suppose, you can call me Ryo.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, are you serious?! I CANNOT believe I got this done this quickly. 
> 
> mumble mumble guess it's quicker to write when you actually want to instead of forcing yourself to write smut for views mumble mumble
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope I can get the next chapter out just as fast o.O but it'll probably be a little longer than that, haha. I posted this on accident... I wanted to at least wait a day or two to stifle it.
> 
> If you were wondering why Ryo chose those specific names to mention...   
> Manha Estrela (Portugese)= Morning Star  
> Lan and Jun= His two halves in Lady  
> Asano= Morning (I was running out of morning star puns man)  
> Akihiko= Bright Boy, vaguely morning star like and it's the name of a really old OC  
> Lucy= Because *snort* LUCY ahahaha
> 
> The title is a little more relevant than face value because of the Kanji, and Ryo's corner. Get it? Shikabane? Slump? Reside? Corpse? Ha ha, ghostie weeb things.... The same goes for the fic title; Sutei, Katakana "Stay", Kanji "Throw Away". Ahhh I'm a nerd. Kanji fascinates me.
> 
> ppsst this whole thing is technically a butchered vocaloid songfic fuck you


	3. Amayakusu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> おいでココまで  
> \--捨てい--  
> 「隠して仕舞ったんだ」  
> メーデー!

He didn't feel good about this. He didn't trust this, this precious high of Akira's presence he had come to distrust. He unlocked the door with a slight tremble to his hands. He wanted Akira again badly, he hated being without him, but the gnawing ominous nature of his presence brought up too much of that memory.

 

It was dark, and a slight crisp dust wafted through the air-- not quite homely mothballs, but instead a newly abandoned hospital or museum. Something made for emptiness, for edging terror. Perfect for a ghost.

 

Akira gaped in the expensive furniture. Whether or not he was in a hut in the Amazon or a mansion, Ryo really didn’t care at this point.

 

“Is it okay for me to wear my shoes in here?”

 

Ryo took a slight pause, recalling.

 

“Yeah,” he decided on. Akira slowly stepped forward, letting his lips part a little. Ryo could get lost in his face as he ran his finger over a Ragot vase, watching the thin dust collect on his fingertip. He was such a soft thing, so naive and wide eyed. Rambunctious, yes, but not like with Amon. He was a frail little rabbit, energetic and too trusting for what he was.

 

Ryo could kill him right now, if he really wanted to. After all these years, he still did, just a bit. He still had the muted itch to slam Akira against a wall, close his fingers on his throat, take him for his pleasure right there, know every inch of him, make him scream his name, choked, overstimulated, crying. Then he would dig his fingers, dig, dig, until Akira’s face contorted past shock, past panic, past betrayal, and the flesh crumpled and the bones snapped, and he would press his hands into Akira’s flesh and feast, and feast, his blood still hot spewing against Ryo’s face, and he would be all his and never anyone else's. All he would have to do is end the world and he could do it again and again, and endlessly indulge in carnal desires.

 

“Uh, Ryo?”

 

But the satisfaction of carnal desires was far from enough. Ryo knew that. He closed his now dry mouth, unaware his lips had parted, and his eyes fluttered as he was slammed back into reality. He had been staring at some abstract painting. Akira awaited his reply, needed to know he was listening. Adorable.

 

He had waited sixteen years for Akira, sixteen years where he could have washed up onto a cliff and heard the ring of “kowakunaiyo” like soft little bells again, but that would crumble into disaster. This was enough, this was good. That memory was sweet, but this Akira was sweeter yet.

 

“Yes?”

“Um, uh- where’s the bathroom?”

  
  


Akira picked at his hands, unsure of what to do with Ryo’s vaguely bitter blank expression. He really didn’t know what he’d do when he got here; he didn’t expect Ryo to have a house in the first place.

 

“Are you satisfied? You can go home now. I’ll haunt my mansion in peace.” Ryo smirked a bit at that, and Akira felt an odd warmth in the thought that he at least caused that a little. Ryo had just seemed so sad when he first saw him.

 

“Um, well, uh- I dunno, I, thought we could be friends, you know?”

 

Ryo’s eyes moved to him a little too quickly.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Well, I don’t know anything about you. You don’t… seem to have anyone, I just thought- well, I can’t just leave you here to mope!” Akira huffed, flustered by his lack of a clear answer.

 

Ryo chuckled. “No, you can’t, I’ll go back to the corner to mope.”

 

“Why do you like that spot so much?” Akira tilted his head, then his eyes widened as he comedically covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh my god, you didn’t die there, did you?”

 

“No,” Ryo relented quickly. He didn’t want Akira panicking. “I just picked a spot to be.”

 

Akira left his hands over his mouth, relaxing a little. The way his knees tucked together from years of being around women, the way he blinked with a rounded innocence to his eyes, Ryo wanted to lick stripes up his thighs and wreck him.

 

Lust is a carnal desire.

 

“You don’t have to dance around questions.” Ryo half heartedly stood, knowing that statement was a bad idea but feeling the edge around the air. He would deny Akira nothing. He pulled a crisp but aging book from the bookshelf. Better to pay attention to something else.

 

“Well where did you die, then? And when? Do you remember? What’s it like?”

 

Ryo blinked hard, picking up a pencil. “I… I died… not too long ago. The time… escapes me. It feels like only yesterday, but- I’m sure that cannot be it.” He was careful with his words, chewing and considering them. “I died… near here, I suppose. Very, very alone. I um,” he debated how to play his implications to Akira’s preconceptions.

 

“I died on a- riverbank, at sunset… I remember the river was pink, and I remember the stars and moon in the water. I died on a rock.”

 

Akira’s brow furrowed. “Then the forest right by here?”

 

“Probably,” Ryo smiled. 

 

Akira frowned further, turning into an endearing pout. The book, Ryo reminded himself.

 

“Then, did you kill yourself?”

 

Ryo stopped, stung. Akira flinched at his tensing, but he replied cordially.

 

“No, in fact. My father murdered me.”

 

Akira tensed further, hands retracting in an oddly defensive but helpless motion. It reminded Ryo of a scared puppy. He wondered if Akira would start crying, but he didn’t. Perhaps his tears for Ryo really had run out.

 

“That’s… unbelievable,” Akira sighed, defeatedly. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sorry for my loss?” Ryo laughed, and Akira realized what he said, bursting in a fit of laughter as well. They laughed and settled into a comfortable silence. Ryo made quick, harsh strokes in the book and Akira slumped back in a sofa contently. This is what Ryo had wanted.

 

“Would you like to stay the night?”

 

Akira found his head in Ryo’s lap, quietly having his hair petted by cold but tender fingers. Ironically, the action was to comfort Ryo, who stared into space as Akira fidgeted with a pc game on one of several laptops, the particular one he was using Ryo gifted to him quickly. Akira didn't feel odd about the action-- he was always a touchy person and gave his trust all at once.

 

The screen faded to black with a pixel gradient, and Akira’s mind was directed back to Ryo. He had been through a lot in the last twenty four hours, but it just refused to sink in the way Akira thought it should that he just made friends with a ghost. 

 

“Do you want some dinner?” Ryo murmured absentmindedly, staring off into space.

 

“I'm starving,” Akira admitted, sitting up.

 

It was no different, he supposed. He shouldn’t trust Ryo, it was ridiculous, but he did.

 

It seemed like Akira had known Ryo forever. It seemed like Ryo's subtle but firm grip on Akira's shoulder was so natural, like the purse of the thin line of his lips was something so ordinary and endearing as they walked to Ryo's garage. It seemed like he was forgetting something he couldn't place.

 

They got into a car not too long unused, and the strewn wrappers hit Akira with a pang of empathy for Ryo.

 

Ryo ignored Akira when he felt his eyes move from the wrappers to him. There was no point in reacting, no point in even acknowledging Akira's careful concerned look. It's why he had placed the wrappers there in the first place.

 

The king of lies. His grip on the wheel tightened and so did his jaw. He would protect this lie. He would protect this elaborate, comedic lie that held together a reality he knew could fall apart so easily.

 

The car ride was comfortably silent after the light tension passed, and Akira tapped the door softly, padding a bastardized taiko into the hard plastic. Ryo's grip loosened and they sunk into a pleasant warmth in unspoken company. Ryo had missed this, Akira’s warmth on a drive, seeing his features under harsh street lamps and dreamy blue moonlight.

 

The restaurant arrived too soon, and Ryo sighed as he pulled in. Akira eagerly burst from the car, unaware of Ryo's plight, ready simply for cheap burgers.

 

It was like a date, what a cruel joke. 

 

He followed Akira, who jogged ahead and then waited for Ryo, like some half baked love interest from a dating simulator. It reminded Ryo too much that somewhere far away in a reality long crumbled, forgotten, and dusted over by existence, that his first Akira was dead. There probably wasn’t even any physical material left of him.

 

He would protect this lie with his entire being.

 

He would protect Akira’s grin and infantile bouncing on his toes, gushing about school and his friends, arguing with Ryo that he should meet them, relaying information about himself Ryo knew well. He would protect the slump and embarrassed disappointment, so fragile and delicate, when Ryo raised his finger maternally to quiet Akira when they got to the counter. He’d protect Akira’s defensive pout, powerless in the fact that Ryo was right, he needed to be quiet.

 

He would guard Akira’s small bites, his carefully folded napkin, his fidgeting feet under the table with wrath. He had already felt the primal and selfish satisfaction of Akira’s fusion with Amon, already indulged in analyzing furious gulps that ripped a 20 oz steak in half. He had felt the rush of throwing a wad of money at Akira, of the innate power over his decisions. He would clutch to Akira’s tiny bites and his carefully ketchup dipped fries with everything he had. He would spoil him.

 

Akira lifted a fry to Ryo in questioning, probably curious as to whether Ryo could eat. He vaguely thought back on a burger being shoved in his mouth, a sudden swim.

 

Ryo smiled, taking the fry and popping it in his mouth. He never could deny Akira anything in the first place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!  
> *clap clap*  
> I can't stop writing this!  
> *clap clap*  
> I have excess chapters!  
> *clap clap*  
> I have no patience!  
> *clap clap*
> 
> I've written THREE CHAPTERS IN THE PAST TWENTY FOUR HOURS to be fair they're only around 1500 words long but ARE YOU SERIOUS THIS AU FUELS ME???? I deserve all of the comments, fuck an E rated fic, this is my baby,,,,,,,


	4. Himitsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NO だって言う筈が  
> キョドって YES を声に出す  
> 後悔の脆弱は  
> 騙したほうが正義なの

Miki told Miko.

 

She had to, it was gnawing at her, and she didn’t believe Akira’s weak excuses for suddenly going out more for one moment, justifications becoming more fragile by the week. Her dad didn’t want to talk about him, but confirmed that yes, he had no pulse, and the disappearing Akira had told her about now was embedded in her mind as certain truth.

 

She told Miko, and Miko believed her too. Legs entangled, they whispered about him, that terrifying blonde ghost servant of Akira. It seemed so ridiculous, even accepting ghosts. Akira? It was like he was the protagonist of some shonen manga.

 

They consulted in the dark, Miko petting Miki’s hair gently. She knew it upset her, the bruises were still faintly persisting. Miki hissed that it upset her that Akira was going out so much, presumably to see her attacker. A literal monster, in the fairytale sense.

 

A monster in the gashes on her father’s face.

 

Akira was friends with that.

 

Ryo sensed someone talking about him, but he really couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck. He was busy. Busy with the most important thing in the world.

 

Akira had sharply risen from the couch after a particularly discouraging round of some terrible off brand fighting emulator from a mortal kombat clone long forgotten, and Ryo had thought it was because of his embarrassment in losing, or to take a piss, or something.

 

Instead, Akira stiffly moved to the kitchen. Ryo frowned, calling to him with piqued interest. Akira was silent, barely making noise in the kitchen before returning even more tense with something behind his back.

 

No way.

 

Ryo’s throat lumped. This was bad. It was what he wanted, yes, but it wasn’t supposed to happen. He was content with this. The number of things that could go terribly, horribly wrong was massive.

 

Deliciously, satisfyingly wrong, but this was supposed to be his treasured timeline. Akira was supposed to die of old age.

 

But here Akira stood, flushed cheeks and trembling knees, avoiding eye contact and stuttering. He thrust out a box of chocolates in the shape of a heart and yelped some endearingly pathetic confession, the words of which bounced off of Ryo.

 

He confessed. He bowed, shaking, probably starting to cry in anticipation of rejection, of laughter, of being told he was a fool.

 

Oh, but darling, darling Akira could never know how much he ached for this image for so many years, more years than Akira’s body had known or ever could know.

 

He couldn’t deny Akira a single fucking thing.

 

It didn’t hold the weight, the meaning Ryo wanted, but the warmth in Akira’s fingers felt so much more real with this simple little word. It was just a concept, just more touches and closeness for Akira, it wasn't the progress Ryo needed. It wasn't an aching soul bond that clouded his vision like it was for him, it was simply a stronger bond than friendship, a shy attraction. But one little word he hadn't earned through thousands of loops ever before still meant so much to Ryo.

Koibito. It didn’t mean what it meant to Akira, his fingers gently touching Ryo’s face. He didn’t remember slamming that same hand into Ryo’s jaw and striking him deep into the ice of antarctica. He didn’t remember splitting demons in half with that hand.

 

He didn’t remember grabbing Ryo’s hand on that cliff, calloused with boyhood but still fat, tender and innocent, pulling him into an embrace and assuring him there was nothing to fear.

 

Koibito or kowakunaiyo? Ryo didn’t know which sounded sweeter off of Akira’s lips. For now, he indulged, knowing there would be some consequence later. Whether that was tragedy or relentless hatred or genocide, Ryo would find out. He didn’t care for now, loosely holding Akira’s hand as he drove with his other, letting the cool wind fill the car and blow back his hair.

 

He was too good at that, putting off consequence for later. The high seemed sweet now, but during the hangover this would seem like a terrible exchange. He really should’ve rejected him, but Ryo couldn’t pallet that thought. He couldn’t deny Akira a thing.

 

People whispered in confusion, carefully moving towards Akira at the school gate to ask him who the rich foreigner was who dropped him off, but Akira waved and smiled to Ryo, ignoring them. Ryo smiled back with a stinging sense of pride at Akira’s refusal to explain a single goddamned thing. Akira threw his trust around, but he wouldn’t tell them about Ryo. Ryo was a treasured secret of Akira’s, and the thought made his heart dizzy with his desire to capture, swallow, hide away Akira’s adorable childish perfection. He pulled away, driving emptily down the road.

 

It’s not like he was really leaving Akira, after all. Just dropping off his car.

 

Miki narrowed her eyes at Akira in class, noting small ticks and jumps in him, odd taps on his desk and the echoes of a stifled laugh. Akira ran his tongue over his lips, trying not to laugh for what would seem like to anyone else no reason.

 

Ryo was having a lot of fun teasing Akira, and Akira, trying not to giggle as Ryo looked him deadpan in the eye and reached to tickle his neck, squirmed, unable to speak, pencil shaking a little as he wrote the kanji for corpse. It killed his laughter a little, but not how he wanted. His eyes flickered to Miki, who raised an eyebrow. He quickly returned his gaze, neck flushing with heat as realized he was caught, badly. Miki raised her hand, asking if the reason shikabane meant corpse as well as reside was because it was similar to the shape of ie with a sharp glare to Akira. She knew the answer. Akira stared at his paper in shame, moving on to yokubo.

 

Lunch came quicker than expected, Ryo becoming more dormant and just watching over Akira, at some points straight up leaving to explore. He had proposed taking the form of a teacher, but Akira had shot that down quickly. It was much much easier manifesting as something tangible but not human to Akira, he had more freedom. Calling himself a ghost was a good idea.

 

Miki strutted to Akira, tossing him his lunch with a propped eyebrow, eyeing him up and down.

 

“So how’s hanging out with your buddy going?”

 

He sighed, not bothering to try to fight it anymore. “He was just scared, Miki.”

 

“I’m scared of him,” she countered. She had a point.

 

Akira swallowed hard, unsure of what to do in this situation.

 

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter. Are you coming to track today?” Miki smiled, as if this wasn’t an issue at all, as if it had never happened. Akira mumbled a no and scanned her for some double meaning, but she really just did want to stop fighting it. It was killing her, being so toxically paranoid and angry.

 

Speaking of toxic and angry, Wamu approached, sitting next to the two of them. Miki glanced desperately to Miko, a few tables away and frowning, but busy with chittering girls. Miki glanced down into her hands, allowing Wamu to wind his arm over her shoulder. Her boyfriend. Well there was certainly no talking about the ghost boy now. At least, no talking about the ghost parts.

 

“So, what’s his name?”

 

“Ryo,” Akira begrudgingly gave, eyeing Wamu. Wamu was every bit aware of Miki’s predicament, every bit aware of what he was to Miki, and he was a good guy who didn’t take advantage of the role he’d been given. But he wasn’t a good enough guy to hear about Ryo.

 

“Hm. Is he nice?” Miki offered, looking up at the sky and shifting her shoulders.

 

“Yes, a lot more than first impressions give off.” Akira snapped, irritated with her sudden change in demeanor towards Ryo, who smiled a few feet away at Akira’s protectiveness. He threw himself into “them” too hard, too fast. He was far more defensive than he should be, thought too high of Ryo for only knowing him a month and a half. But Ryo had been in love with Akira for thousands of years, and he smirked, indulging in his selfish nature and taking pleasure in Akira’s stupidity.

 

Miki rolled her eyes and smiled. “What, do you like him?”

 

Akira sighed with unadulterated exasperation, not even bothering to find an answer to that question. It was said as a joke, anyways.

 

Ryo’s satisfied smile dropped, and he strode to Akira, who was tiring of questions about Ryo.

 

“...Yeah, I guess, I mean he has a hou-”

 

Akira swallowed hard. “Sorry, a house. Um, spit went down the wrong pipe.” he cleared his throat, trying to ignore Ryo leaving not so chaste kisses on his neck. Akira scratched his ear, which was heating along with his cheeks. Ryo was angry, he pushed his tongue against Akira’s neck, sucked down hard. Akira squirmed beautifully, and Ryo was happy with his overreaction. He wanted to just appear, drag Akira away and never let him see anyone else again. He burned at the thought, having Akira all to himself, and his breathing became hot against Akira’s neck, kisses and laps becoming sloppy.

 

Akira was staring at the ground, hoping dissociation would be a sufficient excuse for ignoring what was said to him, but Ryo bit his neck softly and hissed for Akira to reply to them. Right then, however, lunch ended. Ryo stood, cheeks dusted with pink and somewhat more content now that Akira was a heaving, half hard mess. Miki and Wamu quickly asked if Akira was okay, and Akira shook them off, saying he just spaced out.

 

Ryo grinned. The hangover would be unpleasant, yes, and it’s threat loomed larger with every push he gave Akira. But oh, the high was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slurp slrup ryoz gotta snakk
> 
> the alternate title/working title for this fic SHOULD be "Akira the ghost fucker" but it's boringly enough "woop woop" in my docs.
> 
> In case you were wondering after that juicy bit, eventually yeah this'll be explicit, probably sooner than later. I need more views and I need to stretch out some updates before that though, and besides, I already have a devilman smut up I need to fuckin' finish. I already have ideas buzzing in my head for a satan paizuri fic so I need to finish Teeth quick before I get distracted because oh my god a satan paizuri fuck yes.
> 
> Ryos is really turned on by being Akira's boyf. His demeanor is getting a little Mirai Nikki Yuno in the weird specific brand of time loop true love possesiveness, and it very well might evolve into a vaguely yandere effect. although I hope my writing is better than fucking Future Diary....
> 
> I'll probably smooth out the edges on this chapter eventually. I want to include some fluffiness and maybe a date before Ryo Sucks on Akira's Neck in Public, copyright 1972.
> 
> I wanted this to have more MikiMiko than it does too, but I cannot stop writing my Fast Gays. Pero pero.
> 
> Reminder. Please fucking comment like for real it means a lot, it's not that hard.


	5. Hogoteki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 卑怯だって構わない  
> 祈っておいてそれはない  
> 飾っていた饒舌が  
> 墓穴を掘って焼ける様

  
  


The high was better than he’d imagined. He clenched onto Akira’s hand, knowing how spoiled he was by this. Akira didn’t notice, enveloped in the cheap horror movie. It was nearly 30 years old… Ryo faintly remembered a timeline where he was around this age when it came out. Akira gasped and grinned like it was amazing. It was a shit movie, but he had raved about it in that timeline, too.

 

Ryo clenched Akira’s hand tighter at the thought of his blood splattered across a nightclub floor, across Ryo’s basement floor. Akira looked at him quickly, white knuckled in his grip.

 

“It’s not that scary, Ryo. You’re a ghost yourself.”

 

It had become a joke. Akira was so used to that lie as truth he could make jokes about it. 

 

Although, he had accepted demons existing as soon as he had proof, and with little doubt even before then, so….

 

“No, I was… I was just lost in thought. I’m just glad to have you here.”

 

Akira tilted his head, and Ryo knew it was because he was frowning. He watched as his nails dug into Akira’s skin, but he didn’t care. He would draw blood, so long as he was the one causing it. He would draw blood, so long as he would never have to let go of Akira. He refused to watch him die again.

 

“A villian hated by everyone would surely hold more compassion and attention than anyone else, right? So they should push it away, right? Love? A villain everyone hates wearing a mask of love, loved by everyone, despised eternally, should push away love.” Ryo whispered, watching as Akira’s skin inflamed and pinked a little, angry red appearing under Ryo’s nails. He didn’t stop.

 

Akira started, smiling, confused at Ryo’s words. Ignorance is bliss.

 

“Do you hate me?” Ryo murmured. A girl with caked on white makeup and sunken black eyes stuck an axe into a protagonist’s stomach on screen. Akira couldn’t give an accurate answer, but Ryo was too selfish to tell him the truth to get it.

 

“Of course not. I could never.” Akira smiled still, tightening his grip on Ryo back. Ryo realized Akira was bleeding, and was unsurprised but concerned by the shiver of arousal he found that came with that sight.

 

He let go, for now, physically, in the mundane sense.

 

“You can always hate someone, Akira, but you never think you can before you do,” Ryo laughed, remembering Akira’s words on the cliff. These memories would haunt him forever. He realized that now. Seeing Akira smile and act like it was impossible for him to hate Ryo, the impending disaster Ryo was far too wise now to think was possible to avoid; this torture of knowledge was why he had gone into so many loops blind, this was the repent of this reality.

 

“Well, I don’t hate you,” Akira pouted, gently picking up Ryo’s hand, which now stayed limp. A terrified protagonist slammed a baseball bat into the girl’s head.

 

Ryo clenched his jaw. He could never get a real answer. He was beyond the point where he could erase this reality by killing everything, not when Akira, soft, weak, skinny Akira with wide, tear prone eyes kissed his cheek. He took his hand away again, turning off the TV as a girl was decapitated by a door.

 

“You should head home,” Ryo mumbled.

 

“Can I stay?” Akira asked.

 

It would be easier to give Akira the moon, but he allowed him this. He wouldn’t deny him a thing. He couldn’t.

 

Not even his existence, his cursed, cursed existence as Satan’s favorite, Ryo thought, as he fell into Akira’s warm brown eyes. Not even mercy.

 

He slowly, carefully slid his hand into Akira’s, soft and sweaty, still as uncalloused as when he met him on the cliff so many times. He didn’t answer him, he just stood and guided him to his room, lost in some fogged dream. He didn’t say anything as he moved under the covers, curling himself into a ball and staying on the edge of the too large bed. Lighting illuminated his face and thunder clapped in an echo to the night his father really had tried to kill him, held a knife in his mouth as he approached Ryo. It hurt Satan not that Professor Asuka had tried to kill Ryo Asuka, but that it brought too many timelines failed to mind.

 

Akira, sweet sweet Akira, fallen to Ryo’s own hunger for power and his bloodlust. Now, he would fall to Ryo’s selfishness, his desperate grip on Akira that was clawing away at his flesh. How much time did he have, how much time? Akira tilted his head at him and clambered into the other side of the bed, turned away from Ryo. He didn’t expect anything. Sweet, sweet Akira.

 

Ryo almost wanted to offer to touch him, simply to have the memory on his fingers when this inevitably came crashing down, but he decided against it as he had many times over. He hadn’t touched Akira yet, not for millions of years across millions of timelines, and he didn’t need to just for the sake of it now.

 

He did, however, ache to hold him. He was right there, they were together at last, and Ryo himself had curled away into the corner of the bed. Why? Muscle memory? It was too late now, anyways.

 

But Akira’s breath didn’t soften into sleep. 15 breaths per minute… 18 breaths per minute…. He was awake. The minutes crawled by. Ryo did the math in his head to pass the time. 16 mean breaths per minute. 17 mean breaths per minute. An abnormality, a jump that had to be discounted. Back down to 16. 18 mean. 16 mean. 17 mean. He couldn’t sleep, it was certain. It was what, now… he tracked back the number of calculations. Twenty minutes, he should’ve been asleep. Twenty five, he had something he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if Ryo himself was asleep.

 

The air around them flattened and became uncomfortable. Ryo hadn’t shifted enough to be asleep, he was too stiff, Akira knew he was awake. He probably stayed quiet because he thought Ryo didn’t know he was awake.

 

Ryo wondered if his eyes were closed, if he were trying to sleep, or if the question weighed on him that much.

 

He didn’t let Akira know he knew, he didn’t say anything, just loosed his grip on the covers and controlled his breathing, slowly moving his legs. 11 breaths per minute. Asleep. Unhealthy, almost, but Akira wouldn’t be able to tell.

 

Akira’s breathing fell soon enough, and Ryo allowed himself to be lulled into real sleep rather than be stuck in the torment of boredom and regret of not sleeping nearer to Akira, the regret of not making him ask what he wanted to.

 

He didn’t expect to be awoken to the sound of his doorbell. He nearly didn’t recognize it as such, but he shifted to the noise to find Akira entangled in his limbs. He smiled softly, lifting away from Akira. His feet were cold against the floor, and he grumbled as he pulled at his tense limbs on the way to the door. Likely, that girl had tracked them down. Ryo wondered if Akira would forgive him if he stabbed her and pretended he thought she was an intruder. Probably not. He passed the kitchen quickly.

 

He didn’t find Miki Makimura when he opened the door.

 

He found Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof hi Ryuuji,,,
> 
> God I love torturing my readers and my characters
> 
> Also I kind of stan Ryuuji harder than Ryo so fuck you, he's the only decent part of Saga and he's here to FUCK SHIT UP like the gay bitch he is. He's here now, fuck you.
> 
> Also before you start, I'm just calling Asuka Ryuuji for differentiation because oh my god are you fucking serious Ryou telling Akira he's Ryo's twin would be fucking ridiculous like are you serious
> 
> Ryo is decending into yandere territory pretty fucking fast and I'm not sure I'm upset with that.... Oof.... Edge boi
> 
> Oh by the way whoever can figure out what song this fic is based off gets a oneshot smut of the pairing and fandom of their choice. Hint, don't go looking into American music.


	6. Konton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your left and right hands look the same, right?  
> They look the same, but they have different purposes.

“Oh, dear dear brother!” Michael smiled.

 

Ryo punched him.

 

It was the first thing he could think of, and at least it got out some of the initial shock and rage, seeing Michael fall back and grab his face in pain so easily.

 

But then he stood, smiling with the same face again, eyes relaxed.

 

“You’ll never be forgiven that way,” Michael smiled, but his eyes were cold.

 

“I don’t fucking care about being forgiven,” Ryo replied curtly.

 

Michael gave him a smug once over. “Ah, that’s right, you’re determined to save that boy, aren’t you?” he peered into Ryo’s home, which made him somehow feel naked. He stood in front of the doorway more carefully.

 

“Did you fuck him? Did he fuck you? How was it?”

 

“What do you want, Michael?”

 

“Ryuuji,” Michael shifted one leg behind the other, bowing. “Since you already snatched up Ryou. You were always adept at picking human names, and isn’t it so cute for twins’ names to be similar, Lucy?”

 

He punched him again. Ryuuji landed on his knees easily, unconcerned, and Ryo felt himself getting hot with anger.

 

“I’m doing just fine, you can leave now,” he hissed, slamming the door, and was angered but unsurprised to find Ryuuji a few inches from his face when he turned around.

 

“What exactly do you want?” Ryo barked, stepping forward in a flimsy farce of intimidation. Ryuuji smiled.

 

“I just wanted to meet your little pet, Ryo. Harmless fun.”

 

Ryo’s eyes narrowed and widened before he snapped his head to Akira, rubbing his eyes and very confused.

 

“Ryo… chan… who’s this?”

 

Ryo squared his jaw, holding back the urge to pull out a pocket knife. Time slowed to an agonizing, bubbling simmer, and Ryo furrowed his brow. Ryuuji smiled, ears perking with amusement.

 

Torture. Torture in anticipation of disaster, torture of hopelessness. This was cruel. This wasn’t fair.

 

“Akira… this is my... brother, Ryuuji.”

 

***

 

Miki let out a shrill scream, tugging at her sheets and kicking away the figure. Somewhere far away, she wanted to cry out for Akira, cry out for her father, cry out for Miko, but all she could do was kick and fight and shriek as pale hands grasped for her throat.

 

Tears brimmed at her eyes, and she wished it was a dream, but the spots forming over her eyes were no dream. Those familiar blue eyes were no dream. Panic set in and her heart went from pulsing unforgivingly to an eerie slow slur. She felt her tongue poke out of her mouth and sensation leave her legs as a high, cold laugh left the figure above her.

 

Ryuuji left her with a chuckle and a press to the nose, warning her to stay away from Akira before he left, letting her slip from consciousness with a newfound terror and hatred of Ryo Asuka.

 

He was playing by the rules, he was, and the thought made him grin. He was sadistic the same as Lucifer, but not for the feel of Miki’s throat jumping under his hands. He didn’t care. What he loved was the knowledge that Lucifer would have no way out of this situation, no reasoning he could manage with the girl. Akira would never forgive him.

 

None of it interfered with his penance, and yet it would tear Lucifer inside out.

Michael almost giggled.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half chapter-- Ryuuji needed more setup and I'm planning a pretty long one next.
> 
> Plus I'm lazy and tired.
> 
> Ehehe-- I love him.... Very mucho.... He slorp Yuki. Oof but I can't write and he's so cliche villain-y. I can't do him justice oof.
> 
> I wonder if he has a little bit of a grudge against Miki, hm?
> 
> Oof twins are fun but not for Ryo.
> 
> *90's sitcom voice* How's he gonna get out of THIS one?


	7. Kyofu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 少女カナリアと煉獄

 

Ryo felt something ominous and foreboding. He couldn’t place it, but Michael’s arrival had concentrated the pit in his stomach into a sickening throb. He had left quickly enough, winking at Akira to Ryo’s disgust. His world was going to fall apart sooner than he thought, and now that Michael was here, he had no way of anticipating it and attempting to avoid it.

 

Ah, this was the cause of the incessant paranoia of “Ryo Asuka”. The unconscious knowledge everything would go wrong and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

Being aware didn’t make it much better.

 

He gripped Akira’s hand, who looked at him with slight concern from the cooking show they were watching. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want the gap from him and the first Akira to grow even farther. He didn’t want to have to explain this lie, he didn’t want to have to watch Akira hate him, he didn’t want to watch Akira die again.

 

“Will you live with me?”

 

***

 

Miki clawed at her sheets, mumbling. She awoke with a start and her fingers flew to her neck, tasting the sting of iron on her throat. The night before came flooding to her and she flooded with burning terror and rage, slamming open her door to demand answers from Akira. The floor was cold against her feet. She threw open the door.

 

His bed was empty, and she fell to her knees.

 

***

 

Akira held his face as he kissed him like a child, flush with delicate and cherubic inexperience. Ryo clutched onto his waist. Neither of them heard the faint buzz of Akira’s phone on the table, left to tell the Makimuras later, later, this was more important. Ryo was focused on the feel of Akira’s waist, his terrible, wonderful soft kisses and the heat that radiated from him. He had never had the inkling of an opportunity to touch Akira like this, unaffected by Amon, lanky and soft and wide eyed.

 

Ah, yes, Amon… well, killing demons wasn’t exactly his uninformed concern, now. He wondered airly how Jenny was doing, if she was going to come to him or simply let him live out this timeline knowing there would be more. She had grown fond of him, she was likely to let him indulge.

 

Akira gasped as he pulled away from Ryo’s tongue, and Ryo’s eyes opened to see the flush on his face. He had no idea when to breathe. Ryo smiled faintly ran circles over Akira’s hips, leaning forward to softly press his lips against his, keeping it chaste to let Akira’s breath return. But he would not, under any circumstance, stop kissing those pillow soft lips. Akira was so incredibly breathtaking, fused or not.

 

“Ryo-chan,” Akira sighed as they mouthed at each other and sucked on each other’s lips.

 

“Nn.” Ryo replied, heart lifting despite himself.

 

“The phone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, look, I know, I know, it's only like 400 words and I promised a long one, but at least it's content
> 
> Seriously I PROMISE it's going down soon but I really wanted to update and I'm stuck in a bit of a rut and very busy and this seemed like an okay place to leave off
> 
> Plus kissu don't complain ;)
> 
> Hey, all those yandere hints I've been dropping?? Haha??? How would you all like a kidnapping tag????????? How would you all like a major character death tag?????????????????? No????????????????????? TOO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Or maybe I'm just bullshitting you ;)


	8. Orakana Hokori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 負い目どこまで  
> 灰色  
> 被害者ヅラしたって  
> 僕を叱ってよ

By the time Akira fumbled for the phone, he had missed the call.

 

“Ah, Miki-san is going to be upset….” he mumbled, seeing the caller.

 

A shock of cold ran down Ryo’s throat as he pieced it together, grabbing Akira by the arm without warning.

 

***

 

Miki didn’t know how she would even do anything, but she knew he had flesh, knew he could at least be harmed. She spun the bat in her grasp, strides forward long and impassioned. A monster. Miko walked beside her, matching her pace with her long legs easily but with hesitancy. 

 

She pushed her nose, cracking it anticlimactically as they walked in silence. Miki was not one to be attacked without retribution, and god damn if she was going to let Akira be lured in by that monster. He had been coming to school less and less, coming home less and less. She was angry, angry, and if that gave her the strength to walk to the edge of the forest in short shorts brandishing only a bat, then so it would.

 

***

 

Michael smiled, kicking his legs as he watched her storm towards Lucifer’s home. He’d destroy him from the inside, he’d finally crumble and obey, and Father would praise him. He’d be known as the hero he always was. Lucifer would squirm and thrash and fade into divine obscurity and nonexistence; he’d kill himself.

 

Your left and right hands look the same, but you have one you’d be more willing to lose. Your left and right hands look the same, but you have one you use more, one you can’t live without.

 

He didn’t even have to kill a single human. Not a drop of blood was on his hands. He grinned giddly at the thought of parades and feasts in his honor, grinned at the thought of Lucifer finally giving up, finally allowing himself to be washed away into nothing. So easy.

 

He suddenly felt cold. Familiar cold. The cold only divine ones felt.

 

“Not even one drop of blood? Not one, prideful Michael?”

 

***

 

The cold wouldn’t leave Ryo’s throat. His lie, his treasured, precious lie. He tugged Akira up stairs frantically, feeling his face go pale. Akira shouted some protest, but didn’t move away from Ryo as he fumbled and grasped at a latch on his bedroom ceiling. Dust and sweat collected at his shaking fingertips, he struggled to open it. He yelped as it finally came undone and with wide eyes motioned Akira to the opening, who eyed it hesitantly.

 

“AKIRA!” Miki shrieked, voice battered.

 

The world he had so carefully constructed for himself, had worked so hard to make just for a moment of happiness. Falling apart. Again.

 

***

 

She kicked down the door. Akira stumbled back, and Ryo let out a panicked, choked scream as Miki pointed her bat.

 

“That thing is lying to you.”

 

Ryo’s legs felt numb. What exactly she meant could mean the life or death of this world….

 

“He’s trying to capture you, to lure you in.” she growled, and Ryo’s jaw set, his eyes flickering for an exit, of the situation or the room. Akira was frowning, Akira couldn’t see.

 

“He attacked me last night. Told me to stay away from you.” she lifted her neck to show purple and sick yellow depressions and swells on her throat. Miko’s eyes turned away.

 

It was what Ryo expected, but it was hardly relieving. He burned with a sudden flare of fresh rage for Michael. 

 

“Ryuu… Ryuuji.” Ryo spluttered, doubtful the truth would help.

 

Akira’s eyes moved to him quickly, then back to Miki, who’s shoulders had raised in anger. Tears began to brim at her eyes.

 

“Are you really blaming this on someone else, you fucking coward? That was you! That was you, that appeared in my room! That was you, that choked me the same as you had before! That was you, that told me to stay away from Akira; what are you planning to do to him?”

 

The wheels began to churn for Akira, who had no explanation for “Ryuuji” being anything but human, no explanation for him knowing about attacking Miki and her father.

 

“He… Ryuuji….”

 

Miki rushed forward, screaming as she swung for Ryo’s head.

 

Her face twisted from rage to panic as the crack of Akira’s ribs met her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I hate you too.
> 
> Uhhh Michael's gonna get his ass whooped and not by Satan.
> 
> Do you get any hints other than that? How's Akira? Is Akira alive?
> 
> Nope.
> 
> Please, feel free to yell at me in the comments. I deserve it.
> 
> Uhuhuhuhuhuhuhehehehehe I'm having fun though.
> 
> One thing I will tell you... I do have the next chapter written out ;3


	9. Horonigai Kokai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 標本の少年  
> 綺麗な  
> 綺麗な  
> 私の最愛の人  
> 私の  
> 綺麗な  
> 標本少年

He didn’t even feel his wings unfurl as Akira crumpled to the floor. He didn’t feel his hand heat white hot, hot enough to steam the water in the air around him, hot enough to glow. He didn’t feel it curve into a flat surface, didn’t feel his arm lift to strike her. He wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at Akira through blurred eyes.

 

7 breaths per minute, far too slow. Rough. Barely audible… inaudible, if he weren’t what he was.

 

Her scream was faint, echoing and muffled through the ringing in his ears, and he realized he had moved into his real form, hand raised and ready to slice through that girl like a hot knife through soft butter, slash at her flesh until it was nothing more, ready to destroy this house and the terrified, innocent redhead beside the girl.

 

“Little girl,” he breathed. “I have known you for a long, long time.”

 

Green eyes welled with tears and he noticed the girls’ breathing quicken and their cheeks redden with the heat from his hand, still raised, why hadn’t he put it down yet?

 

“I have known you longer than this world has existed. Your fate has always been tangled with Akira Fudo’s.”

 

He took a slow breath again, shifting his cramped wings and sighing at the relief.

 

“You are a fool if you think I am threatened by you.”

 

Their eyes began to shudder and he forced himself to let his hand cool, let it fall to his side. If only so Akira, in his weak state, wouldn’t get heat stroke as well.

 

“I do not care whether you live or die. I’ve seen you beheaded or disintegrated many times over, I’ve seen Akira bring your head to me in rage and blame for the world’s end.”

 

She was confused now, but he didn’t really care. His nostrils flared, but his voice stayed flat and beautiful, the mark of an angel’s fury.

 

“I care only for Akira. I have torn apart universes so he could have a chance at life.”

 

He pressed his finger to her chest, letting mild heat sear her skin, watching her face contort in pain. She didn’t cry out.

 

“Akira cares whether you live. Do not mistake my love for him for distain or care for you. I have made the mistake of ridding myself of your nuisance before. I won’t do that again. All I want is for Akira to live, and to avoid hating me. I don’t even value my own life. Never ever threaten my desires ever again. My twin brother attacked you so you would do this. I have no reason to care.  But now, you’ve struck Akira, and if you threaten what I’ve built again, I won’t hesitate to kill you slowly and then end this world.”

 

He lifted his finger away, blinking heavily and standing up, carefully lifting Akira into his arms. He wouldn’t live on his own, and there was no way he could convince one of his brothers or sisters to heal him, a privilege he had long lost. He whispered a name softly into Akira’s ear, a little regretful it came to this.

 

“You, little girl?” he breathed, and Miki’s head snapped to him from her burnt chest, eyes wide. She was listening; she was terrified, but she was listening.

 

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

 

He lifted his wings sharply, Akira cradled against his breasts, and then he was gone.

 

***

 

It was interesting, watching it happen in person, not being distracted by a livid demon thrashing on his chest.

 

Amon did owe him one for not interfering.

 

Akira thrashed; his wounds had long healed, but his face contorted and his stomach inflated and deflated, arms pricking into goosebumps and back down again as he fought for control over his body.

 

Ryo wasn’t concerned about who would win. Akira always did, even when it was a draw he was the dominant creature, even when Ryo hadn’t commanded Amon to give up easily. Amon knew his place, by now.

 

Ryo airily smiled at the thought of Zenon.

 

Akira sighed and shuddered, and Ryo realized he had been dissociating for longer than he thought.

 

“Devilman,” he smiled, a little melancholic. Regret swirled with innate excitement in a dissonant, beautiful, corrupted feeling in Ryo’s heart.

 

Akira’s clock had just moved up.

 

***

 

“Ryo….” Akira had mumbled, and Ryo’s chest caught. The first thing he said when he woke. A treasured moment Ryo would keep in the sort of “remember this clearly” file he had, being in existence so long.

 

Akira’s eyes opened, smeared with weariness.

 

“Ryo… where… Miki?!”

 

He sat up easily, looking around for her. Ryo smiled softly into his hands. His instinct was to be jealous, but he knew better than to think it was romantic by now.

 

“She’s fine. Things worked themselves out and I explained to her. How do you feel?”

 

“Like I was hit by a bus….” Akira’s eyes fell over his new body, shoulders shifting back in surprise and looking to Ryo for an explanation.

 

“Well, you were hit by a baseball bat, and then a demon.”

 

***

 

It took Akira a moment to regain his composure, but he did eventually with some thrashing he luckily didn’t question how Ryo could restrain and a very patient explanation.

 

“Are you a demon?”

 

Ryo lifted his hands off of Akira’s shoulders.

 

“No,” he answered honestly.

 

“But you’re not a ghost.” Akira finished.

 

“That’s… correct.” Ryo admitted carefully.

 

There was a moment of heavy silence.

 

“You’re not gonna tell me what you are?”

 

“No I am not.” Ryo smiled softly.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be straight with you, I'm gonna be completely fucking honest???
> 
> This chapter is literally transitional. It is filler and closure for 8. I have... no idea what to do next, at least in the specific sense. I have plans obviously long term and a vague outline, but actual planned scenes? Haha, who do you think I am?
> 
> Oh yeah so yeah Amon, that happened.
> 
> I mentioned demons, didn't I? This is still Devilman ;)
> 
> It's... so much,,, Ryo,, talkin to Miki.... he scar her.... she is,,,, probably not gonna come up for a while.....
> 
> Simply for the fact that even though I want her to be a bigger part of this, I need to implement some... relationship dynamics *cough creepy kidnapper obsessive Ryo cough* and so... it's gonna be set in Ryo's Second House tm.
> 
> LET'S GO PARANOIA! *clap clap* LET'S GO PARANOIA! *clap clap*
> 
> By the way, I'm writing Akira as a complete fool who throws all of his trust into Ryo because fuck you. No, he's not questioning that Ryo isn't a ghost. Fuck you. Empathy and zero logic Fudo.
> 
> Anyways so I legit haven't decided if I wanna write in Jenny, do you all want to see her? Let me know.
> 
> Ummm, there's not really anything else, except you get to see Michael's beat down next chapter and probably smut is somewhere soon after that??? Maybe???? I don't know, other things I need to write in first keep coming up.


	10. --Kuiaratameru-- Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repent
> 
> Repent
> 
> Repent

Michael gasped and kicked in pain, writhing as his skin melted under Gabriel’s grasp. Her face was cold, long auburn hair brushing against his face in dissonance with her hold on his throat.

 

She sat on his chest, hand whitening and moving to interlock fingers with her other, and Michael let out a splitting scream, a scream no human could hear, an assault no human could see. They were no longer truly on Earth, after all.

 

He kicked against the roof, aluminum echoing low with a chilling vibrato as he gasped and claw at Gabriel’s unforgiving arms.

 

“Repent, you coward!” she bellowed in the tongue of the angels.

 

“What for?” He managed to splurt, foam and blood painting his shaking smile.

 

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed into their natural gold. Human brown didn’t suit her, anyways. Michael kept smiling until she lifted her hands from his throat and plunged them into his heart.

 

She didn’t flinch at his bloodcurdling scream, instead shrieking “Repent!” over him. He slammed his hands into the roof, feeling the metal bend under his hands as he screamed. Gabriel twisted her fingers around his heart, snapping ribs and feeling the flesh of his lungs burn and boil under her hands.

 

“What do I repent for? I have no sins!”

 

Gabriel stopped suddenly, removing her hands and crawling to lean over Michael’s face. She eyed his disheveled hair, disfigured throat, wild eyes and cold sweat.

 

“An image unfitting something divine… you had your fun, you held up your side of the deal, but you just couldn’t see him happy, could you? You just itched to interfere.” She murmured, eyes wide and analytical.

 

Michael’s face contorted to panic as her eyes met his.

 

“Your sin is vengeance, your sin is narcissus, and your sin is pride. Your sin is the bruises on the throat of the innocent, your sin is the delight in sadism.”

 

Michael began to struggle, but his hands were pinned. He screamed, screamed, anything, calling for anyone, but nobody came.

 

“O Beloved Michael, and of all things, of all cold cold sins to have for the self proclaimed Most Faithful and Nemesis of Lucifer-” she smiled as she leaned forward, held his chin in her hand as he struggled against her, one last attempt to run before her lips met his and he would be ripped into a punishment of unknown eons….

 

“Your sin is Envy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closure... the Michael gets Fucked Up chapter you've all been waiting for.
> 
> Before you yell at me for another mini chapter, I have 11 like... a quarter written already, fuck you.
> 
> Also no, the envy isn't Ryo dating Akira, it's Ryo not listening to god and having the balls to do his own thing.


	11. Shoyu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> いつからこんなに大きな  
> 思い出せない記憶があったか  
> どうにも憶えてないのを  
> ひとつ確かに憶えてるんだな

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been a Whole Damn Month and I still only produced a Baby Chapter and I'm so so sorry for that.
> 
> Please enjoy and expect an update a lot sooner than this.

“I’m off!”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Akira paused, turning to a displeased Ryo.

 

“I….” he murmured, genuinely baffled, “I’m going to school, Ryo.”

 

“No, you’re not.” Ryo replied curtly.

 

Akira stayed motionless in the doorway, drowning in uncomfortable silence and Ryo’s furrowed brow, refusing to back down.

 

“I…” he coughed, voice unsteady. “I, I have to go to school, Ryo-”

 

“You’re not leaving this house.” Ryo sharply cut him off, striding to tug Akira inside and slam the door shut. “You’re the one who was so determined to get caught up in this, you’re one of us, now.”

 

Akira pushed his face into his chin, mildly intimidated but mostly perturbed by the finger stuck in his face. “C-caught up in this? Ryo, I would have died of internal bleeding if… I thought you said you weren’t a-”

 

“I’m not!” Ryo snapped. “Don’t worry about what I am!”

 

Akira’s face twisted into sharp hurt and anger. He turned to open the door, but Ryo caught his wrist. Yes, being aware was useful. He held the devilman’s wrist with ease, far stronger.

 

Akira gritted his teeth, but Ryo just lowered his head and slowly tightened his grip.

 

“I am trying to protect you, you fool.” Ryo murmured.

 

Akira’s eyes relaxed and he let his guard down in surprise, and Ryo gracefully turned him from the door.

 

“You are a devilman now. A demon. You came into this world when you insisted on coming back to me, insisted on bringing me into that house, insisted on running after me, insisted on confessing. Insisted on trying to save me.” Ryo snapped. Akira’s eyes softened into a stinging hurt.

 

“You won’t survive without me. You need to listen to me. Who else is going to help you when you start having the insatiable urge for human flesh? Who else is going to help you when you start destroying everything you touch? Who’s going to know what to do when you get so pent up you rape someone so viciously they die, Akira?”

 

Akira tensed. Ryo clenched his teeth and lowered his hand from Akira’s face.

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snapped, turning sharply and walking stiffly away.

 

***

 

He slammed the bathroom door, chest heaving.

 

“Won’t,” he whispered, grasping at the doorknob for purchase but collapsing to his knees anyways.

 

“Won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t--” he felt his vision slur and his irises dart back and forth, the linoleum floor churning into a sickening blur or tears and vertigo.

 

“WON’T!” he screamed, slamming his hand against the door. The floor felt cold, and he felt cold, and the edges of motion sickness knotted at his chest.

 

“Ryo-chan?” Akira called softly.

 

Ryo inhaled sharply, sucking down mucus. Akira, gentle, kind Akira, who would forgive him even after that. His fingers dragged against the floor, he chased the sensation of grounding as the world came rushing back into him.

 

He felt weak. He didn’t fight Akira when he pushed open the door, just limply crumpled onto the floor, feeling cold, cold linoleum. It reminded him of something.

 

Akira gently crouched and offered his hand. Ryo stared, sighing before lifting himself off of the floor himself. Akira stared at Ryo as he walked away.

 

“Wash up. Jenny’s made breakfast.”

 

“Jenny?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying really hard and I'm not giving up on this. If nothing else I'll just cut chapters from c. 1500 to c. 600 like it has been lately... I'm really dissatisfied with that, but those are the easiest length chunks for me.
> 
> Although I have other projects and I may pop out some oneshots or updates to Yuukei Yesterday, I'm not ignoring this and I'm not giving up. I love this au and I'm going to continue it, I was just in a really bad rut for a while with it and had other ideas.
> 
> I'm so sorry again. I'll try my best to make 12 longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is a long passion project... Please, if you like it, please please comment and kudos, every single comment motivates me and you don't know just how much I love them. 
> 
> I do art! Say hello!
> 
> Twitter: ILG_Smile
> 
> Tumblr: inadequate-lamb-gijinka
> 
> OOF WANNA BE IN A DANKASS DISCORD
> 
> https://discord.gg/aywzBYJ


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